


Could we start again please?

by BecauseImClassy



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: But the shape he's in that would probably hurt, F/M, Matt Murdock Needs a Hug, Nuns, Post-Defenders, Reconciliation, Reunions, Secrets Revealed, lots of talking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-17
Updated: 2018-01-04
Packaged: 2019-01-18 02:05:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 21,810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12378624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BecauseImClassy/pseuds/BecauseImClassy
Summary: Post-Defenders. Karen is trying to resign herself to the fact that Matt is gone, until she receives some shocking news.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> After watching The Defenders, I felt just awful for Karen and Foggy. To be left thinking that Matt must be dead, for however much time passes in-show until season 3...it's pretty rough. I really, really want Matt to let them know he's alive as soon as he possibly can, so that's what I decided to write.
> 
> Obviously, this isn't compliant with whatever Karen ends up doing during The Punisher. And I have chosen to ignore the matter of Maggie. If you like, you can imagine that she is there in the convent, but I don't name her or bring her into the story at all. All I wanted to do with this one is dig into Karen's feelings, and bring her and Foggy back together with Matt.
> 
> I don't know if the convent is ever named in canon, I just made up a name.

Karen sat in her office at the New York Bulletin, laptop open on her desk, writing busily. Her latest article was coming together well, despite the chill fog that filled her heart.

It had been ten days since the collapse of the Midland Circle building. Ten days since she had last seen Matt. Ten days since their final, conflicted, all-too-brief conversation, now raised to unnatural prominence in her memory as the last words they would ever say to each other.

She had hoped, at first, that somehow he might have survived the collapse, as unlikely as that was. She and Foggy had been told what happened, by Danny Rand and the others, and it seemed certain that Matt had been under the building when it fell. But still, didn’t people sometimes survive such things? Everyone had seen stories on the news after a disaster, of emergency workers finding people still alive, even under terrible wreckage. As the cleanup began, she had eagerly followed every bit of news available. She had stayed in touch with Trish Walker, in case her sources heard anything that Karen missed.

But as the days dragged on, there was nothing. Even if he hadn’t been crushed, even if there was air to breathe under the rubble, she knew that there was only so long a person could survive without water. As time passed, it became clear that if any bodies were found, they wouldn’t be alive. And yet, so long as his body _wasn’t_ found, her heart refused to accept what her brain knew must be true.

Trish was full of sympathy, but had no comfort to offer. “It’s hell not knowing, I get that,” she had said, the last time Karen talked to her. “If Jess hadn’t made it out, I’d feel just the same as you. But she says the hole under that building was deep. _Really_ deep. If he was down at the bottom…they may never find him. I’m really sorry.”

Karen had no choice but to face the hard fact that Matt was…gone. She wouldn’t allow herself to think “dead”, not unless she saw a body. But he was gone, and for the last ten days her heart had been slowly, inexorably cracking as her hope faded.

On the surface, her life continued unchanged. She had barely spoken to Matt for several months, so his absence from her daily routine was nothing new. But now that he was gone, she felt that absence with a new, aching intensity.

Back when he had told her the truth about himself, she hadn't known what to do, or what she wanted. She didn’t know if she could ever trust him again. She wasn’t sure if she could accept the complicated, powerful feelings he obviously still had for Elektra. She had needed time to come to terms with the lies, the betrayals of trust, the enormity of the truth he had finally told her. The damage he had done to their relationship was significant and lasting, and couldn't be shrugged off in a day. 

But also, she had needed time to think about her own secrets. She was hiding things from him, too. Things that she knew he wouldn't like, that must change how he felt about her. She knew in her heart that any future for them would have to be based on honesty, but she didn’t know if she could bring herself to tell the truth as he had.

For his part, he had made it clear that he wanted to repair the damage he had done, if repair was possible; but he had understood her hesitancy, and had left it up to her. She had kept him at a distance while she took time to think—but she had thought she _had_ time. He had put away the mask, stopped his vigilante activities entirely, and devoted himself to the safe, blameless task of rebuilding his legal career. She had felt sure that he would be there, whenever she was ready to start talking to him again. But suddenly, he was gone, and she could never talk to him again.

Now, when it was too late, she bitterly regretted her long silence. She still had no answers to her questions and doubts, but she wished that she had reached out to him sooner, that they could have at least tried to rebuild their friendship. Instead, he had gone out of her life with only a final handful of unsatisfying conversations that had resolved nothing. Their time had run out, and now their relationship was fractured forever.

It hurt too much to think about it, so she focused on her work and tried to ignore the pain. She was fortunate to have a job she loved, especially now when she needed a distraction. Her writing was getting better and better as she gained experience, and she could tell that the article she was currently working on was going to be good.

She was checking her notes to make sure she quoted a source correctly, when her phone rang—her office landline, not her cell.

“Karen Page,” she answered briskly, her mind on her story.

“Miss Page, my name is Sister Mary Helen. I belong to the convent of the Holy Nativity.”

Karen frowned, intrigued. Why would a nun want to talk to her? “What can I do for you?”

“We have a…guest staying in our convent right now,” she answered. “A man, perhaps thirty years old, seriously injured. His name is Matthew.”

Karen felt her heart stop beating, then kick into overdrive.

“We found him lying outside our door, unconscious, nine days ago. On the twenty-first.”

The day after the Midland Circle collapse. Was it possible? “Go on, please,” she said breathlessly.

“He has remained unconscious for most of the time he has been here. He wakes briefly now and then, enough to be given food and water, but he has been too weak to talk until today. I spoke with him this morning, and told him where he is, and how long he has been with us. He gave me your name, and another—I’m not sure I understood him, the effort of speaking tired him a great deal, but it sounded like Foggy Nelson?”

A lump was rising in her throat, she could barely speak around it. “Yes. Yes, he’s a friend.”

“Matthew begged me to call you both. He didn’t give me your phone numbers, but he said New York Bulletin, and another name that I’m afraid I didn’t understand.”

“H, C, and B?” Karen guessed.

“You know it?”

“It’s a law firm, that’s where Foggy works.” Her mind was racing. Matt wouldn’t have had his phone with him when he went to Midland Circle, so of course he couldn’t give the sister her or Foggy’s personal numbers. She must have gotten the Bulletin’s public number from directory assistance…if her story was actually genuine.

Karen’s natural caution abruptly re-asserted itself. No matter how desperately she had hoped that Matt had survived the collapse, how likely was it that he had climbed all the way up out of that deep pit, full of the rubble of a destroyed building, and ended up on the doorstep of a _convent?_

“Why isn’t he in the hospital?” she asked sharply. If this was some kind of hoax…

“We thought it best not to move him,” the nun answered. “Two of the sisters here worked in medicine, before receiving the call to religious life, so I promise you he has been well cared for.”

It sounded suspicious, no matter how badly she wanted it to be true. How could it be better to care for him in a convent than to move him to a hospital, if he was so badly injured that he had been mostly unconscious for ten days? 

But still, it wasn’t impossible. And what reason could there be to make up such an unlikely story? Her hope revived, almost despite herself. She knew she couldn’t rest until she saw for herself.

“Where is your convent, sister? I’d like to come and see him.”

“Yes, of course.” Sister Mary Helen gave her an address. “And can you tell me how to reach Mr. Nelson?”

“I’ll call him myself. He’ll want to come with me, I’m sure.” Were men allowed to visit convents? Karen had no idea. Well, they had taken a man inside as a guest, that seemed like a good sign.

“You will both be welcome,” the nun assured her.

“Good, thank you. And thank you so much for calling.” The reality ( _possible_ reality) of the situation was starting to sink in, now that she was getting over her surprise. She began to tremble, the lump rising in her throat again. “I…we…thought that he was dead,” she managed, her voice suddenly husky. “This is…the best news possible. Thank you. Thank you so much. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

She hung up, and buried her face in her hands. Was it true? Was Matt alive? If it did turn out to be some kind of trick, she didn’t know how she could bear the disappointment. She breathed deeply, fighting to still her trembling and calm herself. She would know soon enough. But first, she had to tell Foggy.

She picked up her phone and sent him a quick text.

**I've just heard some news about Matt**

**CALL ME**

While she waited for a response, she turned to her computer and verified that the address Sister Mary Helen gave her did, in fact, correspond to the convent of the Holy Nativity. So far, so good.

When her phone rang, she snatched it up immediately. “Foggy?”

“Karen! What’s happened? Did they find him?”

“No. Well, I mean, if this is for real then yeah, he’s been found. But not at Midland Circle.” Her throat was growing tight again, and she swallowed. "And…he’s _alive,_ Foggy.”

There was shocked silence, and she hurried on. “I just got a call from a woman, she said she’s a nun…” She repeated the whole conversation to him. 

“Holy shit,” said Foggy quietly, when she was finished. “You know it sounds…unlikely, right?” She could hear the hope in his voice, even as his words tried to be skeptical.

“I know, I thought the same thing. But it’s possible, isn’t it? And what’s the alternative? That someone made up a story in order to lure me to a convent, in the middle of the day?”

“The address checks out?”

“Yes. I’m going, I have to know. Are you in?”

“Hell, yes. If it is a trick, you shouldn’t go alone. And if it isn’t…” He broke off, and she heard him take a hard breath and exhale raggedly.

“Yeah,” she agreed softly. “I was crying a little when I texted you, I feel like I’m barely keeping it together right now. Do you want to come here, and we’ll go together?”

“I’m on my way,” he answered thickly, and rang off.

* * * * *

Standing outside the convent door, Karen felt suddenly nervous. Now that the moment of truth was almost upon them, her heart was hammering in her chest. She took a deep breath and rang the bell, then stepped back and drew close to Foggy, clutching his arm while they waited.

After a minute or two, the door opened to reveal a middle-aged nun with brown eyes.

“Can I help you?” she asked pleasantly.

“I’m Karen Page,” said Karen, “and this is Foggy Nelson. We’re here to visit your…guest? I spoke to Sister Mary Helen earlier.”

The woman smiled at them. “Please, come in.”

She led them down a wide hallway to a closed door, and knocked softly. The door was opened by another nun, this one older, and their guide said, “Matthew’s visitors are here.”

The door was opened wide, and Karen’s eyes flew to the bed inside the room, and the man who lay there, asleep, covered by a blanket up to his chin. She froze, not even breathing, as she took in the sight. His face bore fading bruises, and ten days’ growth of beard, but it was _Matt._

A small, choked sound broke from her, and she tried to rush into the room, but the nun in the doorway stood her ground, placing a surprisingly firm restraining hand on Karen’s shoulder.

“Quietly, Miss Page,” she said, her voice soft but stern. “I won’t have him disturbed, he needs to rest.” Karen barely heard, her eyes still fixed on Matt.

“We won’t wake him,” said Foggy, beside her. His voice was shaky, and the hand he reached out to hers trembled. She spared him a quick glance, and saw that he was staring at the bed, his expression stunned. She looked at the nun, still gripping her shoulder, and nodded, feeling dazed.

“We’ll be quiet,” she promised. The nun stepped back to let them in, watched them slowly approach the bed, and then withdrew, apparently satisfied. She closed the door behind her, leaving them alone.

Karen held Foggy’s hand tightly, looking at the recumbent figure in front of them. She could feel relief and amazement and joy gathering in her chest, the pressure building until her vision blurred with sudden tears. The small choked sound rose in her throat again, and she turned toward Foggy and buried her face in his shoulder.

For the last ten days she had tried to fend off her grief, keeping hope alive as long as she could, then throwing herself into her work as hope faded. Now that she knew Matt was alive, all the emotion she had suppressed came flooding out, and she sobbed uncontrollably, muffling the sound in the fabric of Foggy’s coat.

His arms wrapped around her, and she felt his chest heave as he, too, began to cry, as quietly as he could manage. They clung together for several minutes, both of them shaking with tears, until finally their sobs tapered off to sniffles.

Karen lifted her head and wiped her eyes, and Foggy gave her a watery smile. She glanced at Matt, and saw with relief that he was still asleep. She took a pack of tissues from her purse, took one for herself, and handed one to Foggy.

Then she looked around the room for the first time, seeing a bare wood floor, white walls, a window with plain white curtains. There was a small table beside the bed, with a bible, a rosary, and a bottle of water on it. It was a plastic sports bottle, an incongruous splash of color in the bare room, but no doubt it was easier than a glass to drink from, for someone confined to bed. Another table against the wall held medical supplies. There was a chair pulled up close to the bed, and another in the corner.

Karen sat down beside the bed, taking off her coat and hanging it over the chair back. Foggy brought over the other chair and sat down next to her, taking off his own coat. They were both silent, looking at Matt.

His face was white beneath the bruises, his body unnaturally still under the blanket. A shiver of fear crawled up Karen’s spine, and she leaned forward to hold a hand in front of his nose and mouth. For a moment she felt nothing, and she moved her hand closer, nearly brushing his lips, her heart pounding.

Her palm warmed. He was breathing, too shallowly to raise the blanket over his chest, but it was enough. She let out her own breath and sat back, nearly crying again with relief.

“Karen?” asked Foggy softly.

She managed a smile. “I just…I couldn’t see him breathing. And he’s so pale, I suddenly thought…I had to make sure.”

Foggy nodded in understanding. “It’s scary, seeing him like this,” he said, and Karen was reminded that this wasn’t the first time he had seen Matt injured and bedridden. “It’s why I wanted him to stop,” he went on quietly. “I mean, there were other reasons, too. If anyone ever found out who he was, his career would be destroyed. Maybe mine, too. But this…” He looked somberly at Matt’s battered face. “This, right here, is what I’ve been the most afraid of, ever since I first found out.”

Karen thought about that. She had known Matt’s secret identity for several months now, but unlike Foggy, she had been able to try and come to terms with the truth without having to worry about Matt’s safety at the same time. It was only ten days ago that she had been faced with the fact that Daredevil was going into action once more, knowing that Daredevil was _Matt._ And then there was no time, no chance to talk, he was just…gone.

She had told herself that once he came back, they were going to talk about what they both truly wanted, from their lives, and maybe from each other. But he didn’t come back, and she was left to the lonely contemplation of might-have-beens.

What would happen, now that he was alive again?

What did she want to happen?

Losing him had made her painfully aware of just how much she still cared for him. But that didn’t make the question any easier to answer. It didn’t undo the past. And his feelings, what _he_ might want, were more than she could guess, after the events of ten days ago.

It hurt, to realize how little she knew him in some ways, how excluded she still was from this part of his life. Telling her the truth had been like opening a door, showing her a whole, vast room that he kept hidden from the world. But rather than letting her come inside, he had kept her in the doorway. He had told her what was in the room, and then closed it back up again, staying on the outside with her and claiming he wasn’t going back. And when he did finally go back inside, he had slammed the door behind him, shutting her out.

But really, was she any different? She had hidden rooms of her own, locked so tightly that not even daylight could creep in around the edges.

She sighed deeply, and caught an enquiring look from Foggy. “Do you ever wish that things were…I don’t know. Less complicated?” she asked.

“Oh, god, yes,” he said, with an answering sigh. “I’m sure my life would be simpler if I had decided to be a butcher.” He gave her a little smile, and she smiled back. She had heard the Butcher Story several times, when she, Foggy and Matt had still worked together.

“But you wanted to be a lawyer,” she reminded him, nudging his shoulder. “You chose the complicated life.”

“Yeah, I did. I never expected this, though.”

They both looked back at Matt.

His eyes were open.

“Matt!” Karen gasped. “Oh my god. Hi!”

He turned his face toward her, blinking slowly, and she reached out to touch his shoulder. Beside her, Foggy gently touched Matt’s leg.

“Matt, hey, buddy.”

The pale lips curved slightly. He opened his mouth to speak, but no sound emerged. He coughed weakly.

“Here, I’ll give you some water,” said Karen, picking up the gaudy sports bottle. She slid one hand carefully behind his head, and held the bottle to his lips with the other. He sucked in a mouthful, swallowed, cleared his throat, and drank again.

“Thanks,” he said, his voice raspy and faint.

“You’re welcome. Let me know if you want more.” She put the bottle back on the bedside table.

"You're here," he said then, with a wondering smile. "Karen. Foggy."

The blanket twitched, and she realized he was trying to raise one arm. She pulled down the covers to help him, then stopped and stared as his bare chest and arm were revealed. He was wrapped in bandages like a mummy, and wherever his skin showed it was livid with bruises.

“Oh, Matt,” she breathed. Foggy said nothing, but he pressed his lips together tightly.

Matt opened his mouth, but before he could speak, Karen cut him off. “Do _not_ say you’re fine,” she said, suddenly fierce, “or so help me…” She broke off, the threat unfinished, shook her head, and gently covered him back up, lifting his arm to rest on top of the blanket.

Matt smiled again. “Not fine,” he admitted, his voice slightly stronger. “But. Better now.” He reached toward her, and she took his hand, careful of his bandaged knuckles. He sighed, and squeezed her hand weakly.

“The others,” he rasped. “All right?”

Foggy answered. “Yeah, they all got out in time, before the collapse. Detective Knight got hurt pretty bad.” There was no need to tell him right now just how bad. “She was helping Claire and Colleen, and they had to fight a guy with a sword. But he’s dead now, and she’s in the hospital recovering, and everyone else is fine.”

Matt sighed once more. “Good.”

Foggy went on, “Jessica, Luke, and Danny told us what happened, when they got back to the police station. So we know…well, as much as they could tell us.” He caught Karen’s eye briefly. They both still had questions, that only Matt could answer. But now clearly wasn’t the time. “The building collapsed straight down, so there wasn’t much collateral damage. But it’s a big mess, the city’s still working on clearing the rubble.”

“It’s being blamed on building without proper permits,” Karen added. “Officially, Midland Circle collapsed because it was badly built and structurally unsound. Luckily, it happened at night when nobody was there.” She couldn’t entirely keep the bitterness out of her voice—for the last ten days, the pain in her heart had grown sharper every time she heard someone say how _lucky_ it was that no one had been inside.

Matt rubbed his thumb over her fingers. “I’m sorry,” he said hoarsely.

“You did what you had to do, I know that.”

“I hurt you. Hurt you both. Sorry.”

Well, he had. What could you say to that?

“Tell you everything…” he went on, with an effort. “…later.”

“No hurry, Matt,” said Foggy. “Get your strength back first. You’re alive, everything else can wait.”

“Everything,” he repeated, squeezing Karen’s hand. “Karen. No lies, this time.”

Foggy gave her a puzzled look. “I thought he told you the truth before?”

“The big truth, yeah,” Karen answered. “But I think he still wasn’t being completely straight with me. When we had coffee a couple of weeks ago, he told me he didn’t miss…this life. Tried to convince me he was happy just being Matt Murdock, and the city was better off without Daredevil.”

Foggy lifted his eyes to the ceiling, shaking his head. “Matt. Buddy. Why?”

“Trying to convince myself,” he said laboriously, the words coming slowly. “Karen. Telling you…what I wanted to be true. Wasn’t true. Sorry. Can I…try again?”

His face was more open and vulnerable than she had ever seen it before. She realized that in his weakness, she was finally seeing him with no defenses, no evasions or doors closed against her. Whatever he said to her now, she could trust. And he was asking for another chance.

“Okay, Matt,” she said softly, reaching out with her free hand to stroke his arm. “Once you’re more recovered, whenever you’re ready, I’ll listen.”

He sighed. “Thank you,” he breathed, and closed his eyes. She thought he might have gone back to sleep, but then he asked faintly, “Water?”

“Yeah, of course,” she answered, taking up the bottle again. He tried to help this time, reaching his hand up to guide the bottle, and holding it while he drank, his fingers touching hers. After she put the bottle back on the table, he tugged at her hand, and she allowed him to pull it toward him and rest it against his face, her fingers brushing his cheek, his bearded jaw pressed into her palm.

His expression was wistful, a little sad, and it caught at her heart. She remembered the quiet, almost resigned way he had said “You deserve better,” the night he had come to her office. She smoothed his hair with her free hand, and his eyes fell closed again. This time they stayed closed, and soon his grip on her hand relaxed. She carefully tucked his bare arm back under the covers, leaving his hand curled on his chest.

Then she turned to look at Foggy. “Well,” she said softly, at a loss for words.

“Yeah,” he agreed.

After a minute of silence, she asked, “Do you have to get back?”

“No. I wasn’t sure what was gonna happen here, so I cleared my schedule for the rest of the day. You?”

“I’ve still got some work to do, but I can do it just as well later. I work late most nights anyway. Right now, I’d like to stay here with him a while longer.”

“Me, too,” said Foggy.

They sat together in comfortable silence, lost in their own thoughts, watching Matt sleep. He didn’t wake again, and eventually the older nun came back and they decided it was time to leave.

“He woke up for a few minutes, and we talked,” Karen told her. “Do you think he’ll remember, the next time he wakes up?”

“If he doesn’t, I’ll tell him,” the nun promised.

But Karen wasn’t satisfied. She wanted him to have some tangible proof that she and Foggy had been here, that his friends knew where he was. She was wearing a bracelet that she had often worn when they still worked together, and she unfastened it and held it up. 

“Could I leave this here?” She asked. “Can I…can I put it on him?”

“Yes, if you like,” the nun asked, tipping her head curiously.

“If he’s wearing it he’ll feel it as soon as he wakes,” she explained, “And he’ll know it’s mine.” 

She wasn’t at all sure that he would actually be able to recognize it—as far as she could remember, he had never touched it before. But maybe his enhanced senses had noticed it somehow. And even if he didn’t recognize it as hers, finding a strange bracelet around his wrist would still hopefully remind him that she had been there. Anyway, she would feel better knowing he had it.

“Hang on,” said Foggy. He fished his keys out of his pocket, and removed from the key ring a small plastic dinosaur. “I can put it on the bracelet, like a charm.” 

Karen smiled. “That’s perfect, that should definitely tell him it was us.” Once the dinosaur was attached, she pulled back the covers and carefully fastened the bracelet around Matt’s wrist.

“Thank you,” she said to the nun. “Are you Sister Mary Helen?” Her voice sounded familiar, now that she wasn’t too distracted to notice.

“Yes. I apologize for not introducing myself sooner.”

“That’s all right, I probably wouldn’t have heard you anyway.” Karen smiled, and Sister Mary Helen smiled back understandingly. “Thank you again for calling me. This is…I don’t even know what to say.”

“There’s no need to say anything, or to thank me. I’m happy that Matthew’s friends have found him. We’ll keep him here until he’s well enough to return home.”

“And can we come visit again?” asked Foggy.

“Of course. Come as often as you like, as long as you don’t overtire him.”

“We won’t,” they promised.

Evening was closing in as they left the convent. Karen was filled with quiet happiness, all her turbulent emotion from earlier calmed into a feeling of peace. She had no idea what sort of relationship she and Matt might have going forward. There were still too many things left unresolved between them, too many questions she didn’t know the answers to. 

But now, they had another chance to figure it out. This time, she wasn’t going to wait too long, thinking she had all the time in the world. As soon as he was well enough, they would talk. 

For today, though, she could bask in the knowledge that he was alive, and recovering, and that she could visit him whenever she wanted to. She couldn’t help smiling, and when she glanced at Foggy she saw that he was smiling, too. Matt was back, just when they thought they had lost him for good. For now, that was enough.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this got long. I thought about splitting it up into two chapters, but I'd rather get all the explaining done at once and be done with it. Some day, I hope we get a season of Daredevil/Defenders that _doesn't_ leave Matt needing to explain himself to his loved ones.

Matt shifted restlessly in his bed, trying to ignore the pain set off by the movement. He was recovered enough that he wasn’t sleeping all day anymore, but not enough to be able to get out of bed and _do_ anything. Even something as simple as going to the bathroom required two nuns to help him stand up and shuffle stiffly down the hall. He chafed at the forced inactivity, impatient with the weakness of his battered body.

 _It’s only temporary,_ he reminded himself. And he had so many things to be thankful for, even in his present state. He was alive, and being well cared for. His many injuries were healing, and there seemed to be no permanent damage. His friends knew where he was. He still wore Karen’s bracelet on his wrist, with Foggy’s dinosaur hanging from it, a constant reminder that he had people who cared about him.

They were both regular visitors, sometimes together, sometimes separately. At first he had been too weak to talk much, but he would drift back to consciousness and hear a familiar heartbeat beside him, or two, sometimes accompanied by the gentle murmur of their voices talking quietly to each other, and feel comforted. They would talk to him when he was awake, telling him what was happening in the city outside. They had spread the word to Jessica, Danny, Luke and Claire that he was alive, and Foggy had paid the next month’s rent on his apartment for him. They told him little things about their own lives, and he listened gratefully. Gradually, he began to talk more himself as his strength slowly came back.

He was well enough now to be able to carry on a conversation, and he knew it was time to fulfill his promise to tell Foggy and Karen what had happened during those frantic few days leading up to the Midland Circle collapse. When the convent doorbell rang and he heard both of them come down the hall together toward his room, he was ready to talk. 

“Hey, buddy, you’re awake,” Foggy greeted him.

“Hi, Matt,” said Karen.

They came and sat down in the chairs beside the bed. Matt smiled, and reached out his hand to them. “Hi, guys,” he said, as they each took his hand for a moment in greeting. “I’m glad you’re both here. I’m ready to tell you what happened, if you’re ready to hear it.”

“Of course,” said Karen. “If you feel up to it, go ahead.”

“Yeah, we're ready whenever you are,” Foggy agreed.

He told them everything, from when he had first introduced himself to Jessica Jones as her lawyer, to meeting Luke Cage and Danny Rand as they fought the Hand through the executive suites of Midland Circle, to taking refuge in a Chinese restaurant and being unexpectedly joined by his old mentor Stick. When he reached the shattering moment that he had first recognized Elektra, Foggy broke in.

“Matt, there's something I have to ask. This coming back from the dead business, Danny told us it’s for real, that it’s a thing the Hand could do...But that just shouldn't be possible. Are you sure it was really her, the same actual woman, and not, I don’t know, a clone or something?”

“It was her,” said Matt quietly. “Stick confirmed it, and he knew more about the Hand than just about anyone, or so he said. But he said that her original identity had been destroyed, that there was no saving her. They brainwashed her, they took away her memories and made her their weapon, and he said that’s all she was now.” He couldn’t keep his voice from shaking a little as he remembered.

“But I couldn’t accept that. I had to try and reach her, to make her remember. No one deserves to be…to be _wiped_ like that, and _used._ And besides, I felt responsible.”

“Matt, how could you possibly be responsible?”

“Because it’s my fault she died, and that’s how they were able to take her in the first place.” Thinking of her death choked him up a little, even now. “You both know how she died, saving me. I’ve blamed myself ever since. I failed her. So when I found out she was alive again, when I knew what they’d done to her, I was desperate not to fail her again. I had to try to help her, to save her, no matter what anyone else said.”

“But what if Stick was right, and she just wasn’t in there anymore?”

“He wasn’t, Foggy. Just listen.” He continued his story, telling them all the indications he had that Elektra was regaining her memories, as he and the others were figuring out that something big was buried beneath Midland Circle, and that the Hand wanted it.

“I was hoping that if she remembered herself, remembered _me,_ then I could convince her to change sides and leave the Hand. As long as she was still doing what they wanted, I had to keep trying. When we got to Midland Circle that night, the plan was to rescue Danny, and then blow up the building once we were safely away, to re-bury whatever the Hand had dug up down there. But I also intended to try one last time to save Elektra, if I could. But the detonator got set off early, somehow. I heard it counting down, and there simply wasn’t any more time.”

He sighed. “She was still carrying out the Hand’s plan, and like I said, I felt responsible for her. If I couldn’t save her, then it was up to me to stop her, and make sure she didn’t escape.”

“Jesus, Matt,” Foggy said. “That’s an awful lot to put on yourself.”

“Maybe so. But if you want to know why I stayed behind, that’s why. We fought, I argued with her, and in the end I don’t think I even knew anymore if I was trying to stop her or save her. Maybe it was both. But either way, I had to stay with her." He knew this would be difficult for them to accept, but there was no help for it now. "I didn’t want to die, I didn’t want to leave the two of you, but I had to do it.”

He could feel himself tiring—this was the longest stretch of talking he’d done since he’d been here, to say nothing of the exhausting emotions he was re-living. He knew it was upsetting Foggy and Karen to listen to it, as well, but he owed them a full, complete explanation. And there was only a little more left to tell.

“I know you must be wondering how I got out,” he went on. “But I have no idea. The last thing I remember…I heard the C4 detonate, way up above us. I heard the rumble of the building collapsing, I felt the air tremble with it.” He felt a flicker of fear at the memory, and he heard both of the heartbeats beside him accelerate sharply. _The whole truth,_ he told himself, _no evasions._ “I grabbed Elektra and I kissed her,” he finished. “And then, nothing. The next thing I remember is waking up here.”

For a few minutes, nobody spoke. Karen had been uncharacteristically quiet throughout his account, letting Foggy ask all the questions, and now Matt heard a change in her breathing, and felt a trace of moisture in the air, that told him she had tears in her eyes. Pity flared inside him, and guilt. No matter how much he cared for her, he couldn’t seem to stop hurting her. If she had any feelings left for him at all, then his story couldn’t have been easy for her to hear. He wanted to reach out and touch her, but hesitated, unsure if she would want that. Foggy sat still and silent beside her, the way he did when he was thinking over new, unpleasant information.

“I’m sorry,” Matt said helplessly. The words felt futile and inadequate, as they always did when he hurt the people he loved most. But apologizing was all he could do now. If only they would give him another chance, he swore to himself he would do better in the future.

Finally, Foggy spoke. “Now what?” he asked quietly. “Are you going to keep doing this? Keep putting yourself in danger?”

 _No lies,_ Matt reminded himself. “I’m going to keep on being Daredevil, yes.” He knew Foggy would never truly understand his need for violence, but maybe it was better that way. Foggy, and Karen, were good people. They shouldn’t have to understand such dark things. 

“It’s something I need to do,” he said, hoping he wasn’t disappointing them too much. “And I can handle the danger. This Midland Circle business was extraordinary, you know the people I’m usually fighting aren’t like that. Nothing like this is likely to happen again.”

“I sure hope you’re right, Matt. Because we don’t want to lose you again.” 

Karen, still subdued, made a wordless sound of agreement.

“I don’t want that either. I’m going to try and find a better balance this time, and not let it take over my whole life, I promise. But giving it up completely wasn’t the answer. Not for the city, and not for me.”

Foggy sighed. “I kind of thought that’s what you’d say. I have to admit, I never thought I’d see the day when going out and fighting street crime is _less_ dangerous than what you might be doing. Just…be careful, buddy. No more undead ninjas. And remember that promise you just made.”

“I will.” Matt’s throat felt tight. There had been times in the past when Foggy’s worrying had felt stifling, even irritating, as if Foggy thought he didn’t know what he was doing. But in calmer moments, like now, he knew that it was a sign of caring.

Which made Karen’s continued silence troubling. It wasn’t like her to say nothing, for or against. He was beginning to wonder if he had damaged their relationship beyond repair, this time. 

They didn’t stay much longer, and he felt a rush of relief when, before they left, she took his hand for a moment. “Thank you for telling us all this,” she said quietly. 

“I know I’ve upset you,” he answered. “I’m sorry.”

She squeezed his hand, and said, “I’ll see you soon.” 

Whatever that might mean.

“See you soon, buddy,” Foggy echoed, patting his knee. And then they got up and left, leaving him alone to hope for the best.

* * * * *

The next day, Foggy came by himself. Matt was awake when he arrived, and heard him set something down on the floor before he sat down.

“I brought you some stuff from your apartment,” he said. “Clothes, mostly, but I packed your shaving kit, too. Unless you’re planning on keeping the beard?”

Matt grimaced. “No, I’m not keeping it any longer than I have to, I must look like a lumberjack.”

“It’s very manly,” Foggy told him. “But I’ll be happy to help you get rid of it, whenever you’re ready. If you need help, that is.”

“Thanks, buddy, I really appreciate it. The sooner the better, and yeah, right now I’m definitely gonna need help.”

“Can you actually get up yet?” asked Foggy.

“With help, I can. There’s a little bathroom just down the hall.”

"You want to do it now, then?"

"Yeah, let's do it."

“Okay.” He got his hands under Matt’s shoulders, and carefully lifted him up to a sitting position, then helped him turn sideways so he could ease his legs out from under the covers and put his feet on the floor.

“You want some clothes first? I brought you a fine assortment of hoodies and sweatpants, it’s about time you stopped shocking the nuns with all that bare skin.”

“Foggy, anyone who thinks nuns are easily shocked has never lived with them. Who do you think has been helping me go to the bathroom all this time?”

“I did _not_ need to think about that,” Foggy muttered, rummaging in the bag on the floor. He pulled out the shaving kit and put it on the bedside table. “Is that a yes on the clothes?”

“Yes,” Matt answered.

Foggy reached in the bag again, then sat down on the bed beside Matt. He helped him ease his arms into the sleeves of a soft, familiar sweatshirt, then pulled the shirt up over his shoulders and zipped it up. The pants were more challenging—despite Matt’s insistence that he could do it, standing up _hurt._ But they managed, and finally Matt was dressed, and standing, leaning heavily on Foggy and breathing deeply, willing away the pain.

Foggy noticed, of course. “Matt, are you sure you’re up for this?”

“I’m sure. It’s not so bad once I’m up, it’s the transition that sucks.” Another deep breath, and he was able to relax and smile. “You’ve got me this far, let’s not waste it.”

“Okay, man, if you say so.” Foggy sounded dubious, but he picked up the shaving kit, looping the carry strap around his wrist, and wrapped his arms firmly around Matt’s waist. Matt got his arm around Foggy’s shoulders, and they shuffled slowly toward the door.

“If you collapse, I’m calling the nuns.”

“Fair enough.”

Luckily, it wasn’t far to the small, spartan bathroom—just a washroom, really, containing a toilet and sink and not much else. 

“So, uh, how are we going to do this?” Foggy asked, considering the actual logistics for the first time. “I don’t think I can hold you up and shave you, both. You want to sit on the toilet?”

“We’ll get hair everywhere,” Matt objected. “I think I can manage the shaver, if you’ll hold me up.”

After a bit of awkward shuffling, Matt stood leaning over the sink, with Foggy behind him holding him upright. Trying to keep his hands from shaking (thank god, his shaver was electric), he trimmed his beard as closely as he could, and then carefully shaved it off. It was a slow, laborious process, and he was exhausted by the time he finished, but he stubbornly insisted that they clean the hair out of the sink before he let Foggy walk him back to his room.

He nearly fell back into his bed with a grateful groan, and Foggy lowered him down onto the pillow. He reached for the water bottle that still stood on the bedside table, and drank deeply.

“You all right?” Foggy asked.

“Tired, that’s all. How did I do?” He rubbed his hand over his bare face, feeling a few places where his shave had been less than completely smooth.

“It’s a little patchy. But you’ll have stubble all over in a few hours, it’ll blend right in. You look good.”

“Thanks, man.” Matt sighed, and relaxed.

“Speaking of how you look, I didn’t bring your glasses. Do you want them?”

“I don’t need them here. When I’m ready to go home, maybe then.”

“I’ll bring you some street clothes, and your cane, whenever you’re ready. Just let me know.”

“Thanks, Foggy. And would you take home…what I was wearing when I got here?”

“Already done. I talked to one of the nuns about it the second time I came here, the one who called Karen that first day. Sister Mary Helen. She seems to know pretty much everything that goes on in this place.”

“Yeah, she does. Thank you.”

“No problem.”

There was a pause, and then Foggy changed the subject. “So, this new work-life balance you promised to work on…where does that leave you and Karen? Still ‘figuring yourselves out’, do you think?”

“God, Foggy, I wish I knew. We had just barely started talking again, before all this happened. She might decide I’m not worth it, I wouldn’t blame her. She was pretty upset yesterday.”

“Yeah, she was. I’m glad you noticed, it saves me the trouble of pointing it out to you. That’s what happens when you do crazy shit like staying under collapsing buildings on purpose, it upsets people.”

“I upset you, too, but you’re still here,” he said hopefully.

“Oh, she’ll be back. Even if she does decide to bail, she won’t do it without saying anything, not if I know her.”

That was not entirely comforting.

“If you want her to give you another chance,” Foggy advised, “the best thing you can do is keep on being honest with her. Not only is it stupid to hide stuff from her, because she’s, like, a terrifyingly good investigator—but it also really hurts her. So don’t do it. And, you know, don’t throw away your life for the sake of your ex-girlfriend. That doesn’t go over well.”

Matt smiled faintly. “Noted. What about you, Foggy? I don’t want to hurt you any more, either.”

“Pretty much the same thing, it’s not complicated. Don’t lie to me. And keep yourself in one piece.”

“I’ll do my best,” Matt said, reaching for Foggy’s hand and squeezing it. “Thanks for not giving up on me, Fog.”

Foggy said nothing in reply, but he squeezed Matt’s hand back.

* * * * *

The following day, Karen came back, alone. Matt was dozing when he heard his door open, but came instantly awake when he realized who it was.

“Oh!” she said, before he could speak. “You shaved.”

Karen stared at the figure in the bed, as she crossed the room and sat down. Instead of a full beard, he had only stubble, and it was startling what a difference it made. He looked like himself again, all the more so since he wore a hooded sweatshirt, covering the bandages from view. The bruising on his face had nearly all faded by now, and he looked…he looked good. She felt an urge to reach out and stroke his cheek, and repressed it.

“Karen, hi,” he said, smiling. Whatever she had come to say, at least she was here. He began automatically to reach for her hand, but stopped himself. He hadn’t been at all sure that she would even come back again, unless it was with Foggy. Best not to presume.

Instead, he answered her surprised comment. “Yeah, I shaved. Foggy brought me some of my things yesterday, and helped me stand up long enough to get the job done.”

There was an awkward silence. 

“How are you feeling?” she asked.

“Uh, not too bad,” he answered. “You know, it gets a bit better every day.”

“You look better. I mean, not like you’re ready to be Daredevil again just yet. But better.”

She definitely seemed ill at ease. Because he was planning on going back to being Daredevil?

“Karen, you know I was lying to you before. When I said I didn’t miss that life. I know it’s hard for you and Foggy to understand, but it’s something I have to do, to feel…whole. It’s who I am, and I can’t keep on denying it.”

“It’s _part_ of who you are,” she corrected him gently. “There’s a lot more to you than just Daredevil. But I do understand that it’s important. And I think you should keep doing it, if that’s what you want.”

Matt felt his mouth fall open in surprise. “You do?”

“I never said I wanted you to stop, Matt. You told me, before, that that was what _you_ wanted. Of course I didn’t want you doing it, if you didn’t want to. But if you do…I mean, yes, now that I know it’s you, I suppose I’ll worry. I don’t want you to get hurt. But I believe Daredevil is good for this city. You _help_ people. I’ve always thought so, ever since the night you saved my life. The first time you saved it, I mean.” She reached out and took his hand.

Matt smiled, wondering at his own assumptions. He knew that Karen had always approved of Daredevil more than Foggy had, but somehow he hadn’t expected that to last once she knew it was him. Foggy’s negative reaction when he learned the truth had colored Matt’s expectations, and he had been sure Karen was just as relieved as Foggy was when he decided to give it up.

“Thank you,” he said gratefully, and squeezed her hand.

“Just don’t let it wreck the rest of your life, okay?”

“No, I won’t. Like I said, I’m going to try and figure out how to balance the two, somehow.”

“You’re not the only one protecting the city anymore,” she pointed out. “You don’t need to take on the whole burden yourself.”

“That’s true,” he said. “And, you know, I want to be a good lawyer, and help people that way, too. I don’t want to abandon my clients, like I did before. Or my friends. Both parts of my life are important to me, I don’t want one to be at the expense of the other.”

“Then you’ll figure it out. You’re pretty smart, and pretty stubborn.”

“Like you?” he asked, daring to tease her a little, and she laughed softly.

But then she let go of his hand, and sat up straighter, and he heard her heart rate increase.

“So,” she said, “There’s something I want to ask you.” She had thought about this for the last two days. Hearing Matt’s story, listening to the emotional way he spoke about Elektra, had hurt more than she expected. Was there any point in trying to decide if she could let him back into her heart, if his heart belonged to someone else? Finally, she had decided her best option was to just ask him directly.

“Of course,” he said, wondering what was coming, to have her so anxious. “What is it?”

“I want to know how you feel about Elektra,” she said, and watched him freeze for an instant, and then press his lips together. “Are you in love with her?” He wasn’t angry, she thought…he looked pained, more than anything. “Maybe it’s none of my business,” she added. “Maybe it’s not fair to ask that, when I haven’t said anything about my own feelings…”

Matt let his breath out in a sigh. “No, that’s not…it is your business. You, of all people. After what you and I were to each other, before…before she came back…” He resisted the impulse to reach for her hand again. “It is a fair question, and you deserve an answer. I’m not in love with her.”

Karen wanted to believe him. But she couldn’t help asking, “Is that true, or is it what you want to be true?”

He smiled. “It’s true. But I can’t say I don’t have _any_ feelings for her. It’s complicated. I’m not saying that to avoid answering, I promise. I’m just trying to be as honest as I can.”

She hesitated over her next question, but he had said she deserved an answer. “Why did you kiss her, then?”

“Because I did love her, once, and I believe she loved me, too, in spite of all the lies she told me. And I was sure we were about to die.”

Karen shivered. She didn’t like to imagine what that must have been like, knowing that death was coming, hearing it rushing toward him. If he had turned to Elektra for a last moment of comfort, who was she to blame him? He owed her nothing, after she had gone months without even speaking to him. She had given him precious little reason to think that she might still want him, so she had no cause for complaint that he had kissed a former love in what he thought was his final moment of life.

“I understand,” she said quietly, hating how resigned she sounded.

“That’s all over, though, a long time ago,” he told her. “Whatever I feel for her now, it isn’t what it was. There are things I finally understand about her that I was doing my best, before, _not_ to understand.”

“What kind of things?”

“Oh, like what she would do once she got her memory back. She was the Hand’s enemy, before they killed her, and I was convinced she would turn on them again, if I could remind her of who she really was. But that’s not what happened.”

He sighed. “I was trying to offer her a chance for redemption…and she didn’t want it. She didn’t think anything she’d done was wrong. She had her memory back, at the end, and she was choosing to carry out the Hand’s plan anyway, only for her own benefit instead of theirs. She didn’t regret anything she’d done, only the fact that she’d done it under someone else’s orders. And if I were being honest with myself, that shouldn't have surprised me.

“Last fall, when I first found out she was a trained killer, I tried to convince her to change. And I thought I succeeded, I thought I’d gotten through to her. I didn’t, though, not really. She cared about me enough to stand by me, and tell Stick to go to hell, but she never accepted my morals. That’s the truth I didn’t want to face, this time around. I really thought I could save her, and it took me a lot longer than it should have to realize that she didn’t want to be saved. She didn’t think she _needed_ to be saved.”

Karen felt a pang of sympathy for him—she, too, had once tried to convince a killer to change his ways, and had failed.

“I don’t regret trying to help her remember,” he went on. “I still don’t think she deserved to have her past taken away from her, and to be used the way they used her. But once she was free of their control…she saw nothing wrong with doing whatever she wanted, even killing, with no concern for anyone else. I had been fooling myself, believing what I wanted to believe. The truth is, she wasn’t the person I thought she was—the person I wanted her to be. And she never had been.”

Karen’s heart sank. Matt wasn’t in love with Elektra; she had gotten the answer she was hoping for. But if this was the reason why—because she wasn’t who he thought she was—then what did that mean for _her?_

Matt heard her heart speed up once again, and smelled anxiety wafting off her skin.

“Karen?” he asked. “What is it? What have I said to upset you?”

She pressed her lips together, coming to a decision. If the truth was going to drive him away, then better to tell him now, and make a clean break, before she got any more deeply attached to him.

“You haven’t upset me, Matt. It’s just that…” She took a deep breath. _Do it._ “I’m not the person you think I am, either.” She had kept this a secret for so long that she could hardly bring herself to say the words. “I did something, something bad, and no one knows, I hid it from you and from everyone.” She put a hand over her mouth, hesitating for one last moment, but she knew what she had to do. The concern on Matt’s face helped to firm her resolve—it was concern for the good person he thought she was. She couldn’t let him keep believing a lie.

She tucked both her hands under her thighs on the chair, and forged ahead resolutely. “Do you remember James Wesley?” she asked. “He worked for Wilson Fisk.”

Whatever Matt had been expecting, it wasn’t that. “Sure, he’s the one who hired us to defend John Healy.” Where was she going with this? “There was no sign of him when we finally took down Fisk, I wondered what happened to him.”

“ _I_ happened to him,” she answered quietly. “Matt, I…I killed him.” She watched as shock wiped all expression from his face. He could tell when people were lying, he would know it was the truth. “He kidnapped me, and threatened me, and…I shot him, with his own gun.”

Matt opened his mouth, then closed it. What she was telling him wasn’t possible—no, it _shouldn’t_ be possible. How could Karen have killed someone? And when? She had been with him almost every day back then, when they had still worked together.

“You were never missing,” he said, finding his voice. “When did he kidnap you? How could I—or Foggy—not have known?”

“It was right after Foggy found out about you, when you were hurt so badly and wouldn’t tell me what was going on. It was the same day I came to visit you, actually. Later that night." The memory of fear rose up in her throat, and she swallowed hard. "He waited for me outside my apartment building, and when I came home he snatched me right off the front stoop. There was a hand over my face, and I blacked out.”

Matt’s jaw tightened. Not only kidnapped, but drugged, against her will, while he had sat at home feeling sorry for himself. What good was his promise to keep her safe, when he hadn’t even known she needed him?

“What happened?” he asked, keeping his voice steady with an effort.

She told him, the details still fresh in her memory even after more than a year. Waking up in a dingy warehouse facing Fisk’s henchman, the gun on the table, his demand that she convince the world Wilson Fisk was a good man. The threat that she, and everyone she loved, would be killed if she refused. The moment of distraction that allowed her to seize the upper hand.

It wasn’t easy. Normally she tried her best not to think about that night, and the helpless horror of it came back to her all too vividly as she spoke. But there was relief, too, in finally unburdening herself, no matter what the consequences might be.

Matt listened in silence, trying to take it in. As shocked as he was that she had killed a man, he was even more angry, and distressed for her, that she had been put in such a situation in the first place. And his concern only grew stronger as she described the aftermath, her voice trembling despite the effort he could hear her making to control it. How she had fled the warehouse, getting rid of the gun, going home and falling apart, and finally leaving the unbearable solitude of her apartment to come in to the office in the middle of the night.

Where Matt had come, too, unable to bear the solitude of _his_ apartment.

“So that’s what was bothering you,” he said, thinking back. “I knew you’d been drinking heavily, I could smell it. But I had no idea…God, Karen, I’m so sorry. I was too wrapped up in my own problems to realize how much you were suffering. I should have paid more attention, I should have known it was more than just, well, everything else that was happening. I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologize,” she told him. “I’m glad you didn’t ask any questions. I would have lied, and you would have known I was lying. I couldn’t have told you the truth. I was afraid I’d be caught, at first, even with the gun at the bottom of the river, and I couldn’t let you and Foggy get in trouble along with me.” 

She was protecting them. How ironic.

“But also,” she went on, “I really meant it when I told you that you guys were the only good things in my life. I couldn’t bear to lose you, too, on top of everything else. So I couldn’t tell you.”

“Oh, Karen.” His heart clenched with pity. “Did you really think you would lose us?”

“I knew you wouldn’t turn me in. But you thought I was a good person, and I knew I’d lose that, if you knew what I’d done. You probably wouldn’t want me around anymore, I wouldn’t blame you. It’ll be easier to bear now, I mean it still hurts, but my life’s in a better place, so—"

“Karen, wait, stop. Are you saying…do you think I’m going to turn against you? That I won’t care about you anymore because of this?”

“I killed someone, Matt. It’s like you said about Elektra, I’m not the person you thought I was.”

“Oh my god, no. Karen, you are _nothing_ like Elektra.”

“But I know how you feel about killing. It’s completely wrong, that’s what you said when we were working on Frank’s trial. Only God has the right to decide who lives and who dies.”

He remembered the conversation they had had in his apartment, preparing for the next day’s testimony.

“Oh my god,” he repeated faintly. He reached out, and found her hand tucked underneath her leg. He brushed his fingers over her wrist.

“Karen, please,” he said, and something in his expression made her slide her hand free, and allow him to take it. He held her hand gently between both of his, as if it was something precious.

“That night,” he began. “When I said that, I was thinking about…” He paused, and started again. “I talked with Frank, as Daredevil, before I ever met him as Matt Murdock. He believed that what he was doing was completely justified, and that everyone he killed deserved to die. He thought my methods were wrong. Ineffective. He told me I was a half-measure, someone who couldn't finish the job. I don’t believe in killing, I never have, but Frank made me extra defensive about it, because he thought it was _right._ ”

He frowned, running his fingers over the back of her hand. “I knew you were sympathetic to Frank, because of what had happened to him. I was, too, but I never thought it gave him the right to kill, and I took it for granted that you didn’t, either. So when you defended him that night, defended his methods, and suggested the Punisher was no worse than Daredevil…I got defensive again.”

Karen thought back, remembering all the things she had said, seeing Matt’s responses in a whole new light. “Oh. Shit. Matt, I’m sorry I said that, I had no idea.”

“Of course you didn’t. It was my own fault, for not telling you the truth.”

“I just really, really wanted to believe that Frank was a good person. If I could believe that he isn’t a monster, then maybe…maybe I’m not a monster, either.” She sighed. “When I compared the two of you, I was trying to say that maybe he was as good as you. Not that you were as bad as him. But I know I didn’t say it very well, I’m not sure I even knew what I really believed.”

“Do you really think you’re a monster?” he asked quietly.

She said nothing, but he heard the soft swish of her hair as she turned her face away from him. He felt dismayed that she would think that about herself, and appalled that she had honestly thought he would condemn her if he knew the truth. He had hurt her yet again, without even realizing it.

But his guilt didn’t matter right now. Her feelings were more important.

“You are not a monster,” he said earnestly. “You’re strong, and brave, and… _good._ ” She turned back toward him, and he went on quickly, before she could say anything. “I mean it, Karen. You are so full of kindness, and compassion for other people. It’s not just Frank. Every client who walked in our door, no matter how sketchy some of them seemed at first, I heard the way you talked to them all. You _care_ about people. And you care about justice, more than almost anyone else I’ve ever met. You are a good person, I truly believe that.”

“Matt, you can’t tell me it means nothing to you that I killed someone. I took a life.”

“Of course it means something. But it doesn’t mean you’re a monster. The night we talked about Frank, I wasn’t being reasonable. Not everyone who kills is a bad person. People who kill in self-defense, or defending someone else….I do think it’s a tragedy, any time anyone is driven to such desperate straits that killing is the best option they have. But that’s what happens sometimes, whether I like it or not. When you shot Wesley, you were protecting yourself, and us. And you felt terrible about it afterward, you still do even now. A monster wouldn’t.

“I’m shocked by what you’ve told me. I admit it. I didn’t know you were capable of such a thing. But that doesn’t mean you aren’t the person I thought you were. You _are,_ you're exactly the person I thought you were, because you have kept on being kind, and compassionate, and brave, and determined to see justice done, despite everything. And all the while, you’ve been carrying this burden, all alone, with no help from anyone else. You’re so strong, you amaze me.”

Karen gripped his hand tightly, unable to speak. She had spent so long convinced she could never tell him; and then, once she had begun to believe that she should tell, dreading what his reaction would be. But whatever she had imagined, she had never expected such unqualified sympathy and support. She felt overwhelmed, relief mixing with a feeling almost like shame, that he should think so well of her. She didn’t think she deserved it, no matter what he said.

But she knew he meant it. He knew that she had killed, and he still thought she was good. The unexpected absolution left her speechless.

Matt could sense her agitation in the beat of her heart, her uneven breathing, the convulsive grip of her hand.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you,” he said softly. “I’m sorry I made you think that I would condemn you if you told me the truth. I was too wrapped up in my own problems. Again." He sighed. He hadn't been a very good friend to you, and he'd been an even worse boyfriend. "I’m glad you've told me now, that took a lot of courage.”

Karen pulled herself together, and tried to smile. “It was the right thing to do,” she said. “I’ve been thinking about it for a while, actually, ever since you told me the truth about you.”

“You still didn’t have to, you don’t owe me anything.”

“No. But I thought, if I want to have any kind of relationship with you at all in the future, whether that’s friends, or…whatever, I felt like that was going to need honesty. From both of us. All that time I wasn’t talking to you, I was trying to figure out what I wanted. It was easy, at first, to just blame you for everything that had gone wrong between us. But at some point, I started asking myself, what now? Now that I knew the truth, did I want you back in my life? Partly, that meant, could I live with the things you’d done? But it also meant, could I ever bear to tell you what _I_ had done? When I said we needed to figure ourselves out first, I really did mean both of us.”

“And now?” She had told him the truth, did that mean she wanted him back?

“Now, I told you because of what you said about Elektra. You don’t love her, because she’s not who you thought she was. Well, neither am I, I thought. If knowing the truth was going to change how you feel about me, then better to know that right now, before things go any further. I still don’t know quite what I want. But it wouldn’t be right to…to string you along while I figure it out. Visiting, and talking, being friends again, and hiding the truth. When you told me about Elektra, I just knew. Now or never, if this is a deal breaker then it needs to break _now._ ”

“It’s not a deal breaker,” he assured her. “It’s definitely something I wasn’t expecting. But it doesn’t change my feelings. I still care about you. And, if it’s any comfort, I’m really in no position to judge. The fact that I don’t kill, it’s not always an easy choice. It’s something I struggle with.”

“Really?”

He nodded. “I know that I have the ability to kill, and sometimes…sometimes I want to. I wanted to kill Wilson Fisk, after Mrs. Cardenas was killed. When I went out that night, and found Nobu, I was looking for Fisk, and I had murder on my mind. Which is worse? Killing a man when you were forced into a corner, to protect yourself and your loved ones? Or _intending_ to kill, in a rage, for revenge, even if I wasn’t able to carry it out? When it comes to sin, to moral wrong, that line isn’t as clear-cut as I like to pretend.”

There were answers to that, of course. Karen could have pointed out that rage was only temporary, and since he hadn’t killed, it had done no lasting harm; while killing was irreversible, no matter the motivation. But she understood the point he was making, and felt touched that he was willing to offer up his own failings to try and ease her guilt.

“Thank you for telling me that,” she said. “I think you’re trying to make me feel better, and I appreciate it. But it also…I don’t know, it makes it more _real_ to me that Daredevil is you. He was sort of a distant, heroic figure to me before, you know? A little unreal, even though I’d seen him fight, up close and in person. It was hard to reconcile that guy with you, once you told me. And then you stopped, so I never really had to think about _you_ putting on that mask and going out at night to fight, until Midland Circle. Even though I knew the truth, the two of you were still kind of separate in my mind. But when you tell me something like this, it helps.”

“Does it? I thought you might not want to know any details about what it’s like for me. Foggy’s always been uncomfortable with the whole subject.”

“Well, I want to know. I don’t want to be shut out from this part of your life, I want to hear about it. If…if you want to tell me.”

“Yes, I think I’d like that,” he said, bemused by the fact that she had managed to surprise him yet again. He thought about the few people he had ever been able to talk to about his double life. Father Lantom, who he had never told the whole truth, and Claire, who had chosen to keep her distance; Stick, and Elektra, who had never had much sympathy for his internal struggle, and were both gone now, anyway; Foggy, who still cared about him and helped him despite everything, but clearly wished Matt had never put on the mask in the first place.

But Karen—she had given him hope today that she understood, and approved of, both his worlds, and the balance he was trying to find between them. Even the bombshell she had dropped only made them seem more alike. She understood violence, to an extent he never would have guessed, but it hadn’t corrupted her, as he tried to not let it corrupt him.

And she wanted to be a part of his life again, both parts of it, even if she wasn’t sure yet exactly how she felt about him.

“So, what happens next?” he asked. “Once I’m ready to go home?”

“You’re sure you still want me around?”

“I’m sure. Do you…what do you want?”

“Well...I want us to be friends again, to spend time together, and maybe just…see how things go, now that we know the truth about each other. A fresh start. Sound good?”

“That sounds amazing.” He smiled, feeling as if a burden had been lifted from him. Karen was giving him another chance.

He still had some doubts—she might support the _idea_ of him being Daredevil, but the real test would come when he actually started going out again and doing it. She might very well find that it bothered her more than she anticipated. But only time would tell. He had gained more today, much more, than he had any reason to expect.

Happiness filled him, and with it came a strong urge to hug her. Would that be rushing things?

Could he even sit up, without help?

He let go of her hand, and braced his hands on the mattress on either side of him to push himself upright. His abdominal muscles protested, and he winced.

“Matt, what are you doing?” she asked in alarm. “Lie down, you’ll hurt yourself.”

“No, I won’t,” he said breathlessly, hoping he was right. It hurt, but he made it to approximately vertical, and smiled in triumph. “I can get up and walk, now, with help, so I think I can manage to sit up long enough to give you a hug.”

He leaned forward, still holding himself up on his hands, but then hesitated. “If…if you want me to, that is.”

She quickly decided that yes, she did want it. After the emotional upheaval they had just gone through, they could both probably use a hug. And after all, they had hugged each other before they ever tried dating, and she had just said she wanted them to be friends again.

“I do, I just don’t want you to get hurt, that’s all,” she said, shifting to sit on the edge of the narrow bed and reaching out. “Come here.” She carefully took him into her arms, and he sagged heavily against her with a sigh. She felt his arms curve around her, his head resting on her shoulder, and oh, it felt good. It seemed like years since the last time they had done this.

“I missed you,” she whispered.

“I missed you, too,” he answered, breathing in the scent of her hair, of her skin. It had been far too long since they had held each other like this, close enough that the feel and sound and smell of her surrounded him, filling his senses. He leaned on her gratefully, still too weak to hold himself up for long, and she supported him, her arms strong and gentle.

Peace. Like the calm after a storm. Neither of them unscathed, but both still here, and ready to try and repair the damage.

Too soon, she murmured, “You should lie back down, you don’t want to push yourself too hard.”

“All right,” he agreed reluctantly. He straightened away from her, wincing again as pain flared in his back. “Help me down?” he asked.

“Yeah, of course.” She kept her arms around him, one hand on his back, the other cradling his head, and lowered him back down. It hurt, but not as much as doing it by himself would have.

Karen looked at him closely once he was settled, to make sure he was all right—it wasn’t like him to actually ask for help. He looked a little pale, and tired, but happy.

“Are you okay?” she asked, taking his hand. “That wasn’t too much?”

“Worth it,” he said, with a smile. “I didn’t hurt myself, I’m fine.”

“Okay, good,” she said, smiling back.

Silence fell between them, but it felt comfortable now, not awkward.

After a minute or two, Matt spoke. “Thank you for coming today, Karen,” he said, squeezing her hand gently. “I know you were upset, last time, by what I told you…and I’m really glad we could talk about it, and clear up some things.”

“Me, too,” she answered. “I feel a lot better now. And, thank you for being so kind, about what I told you. About me killing Wesley.” That still wasn’t easy to say. She doubted it would ever get easier. “It’s such a relief, to know I didn’t lose you, and now I don’t have to hide it from you anymore.”

“I know the feeling,” he said softly.

Of course he did.

“Were you afraid, when you told me?” she asked curiously.

“Yeah, I was. After what I went through with Foggy, when he found out—and then, you had so many reasons to be angry with me—I was expecting the worst. I thought I’d lost you already, so it wasn’t quite the same. But I was relieved that you took it as well as you did. And it’s a huge relief now, not to have to hide it from you anymore.”

“I’m glad,” she said, rubbing her thumb lightly over his fingers.

She looked at his face, at his eyes, that were never hidden behind dark glasses here in the convent. His expression was as open and unguarded as it had been on that first day. How much of that was due to his weakened state, and how much to his resolution that he wasn’t going to hide from her anymore? Only time would tell. The real test of his promises would come once he went back to his life (both his lives). But she felt hopeful, more hopeful than she had felt in a long time.

She checked the time, and sighed. “I should probably go,” she said reluctantly. “I’ve got things I need to do tonight.”

“Of course,” said Matt. “It’s not taking up too much of your time, is it? Coming here to see me?”

“Not at all,” she assured him. “I can’t always stay as long as I’d like, that’s all. But I’ll be back. Soon.”

Matt smiled. “I’m just glad you still want to see me. I wasn’t sure, after last time.”

Karen felt again the urge to touch his cheek, and this time she obeyed it, reaching out to gently cup his face in one hand.

“I’m glad you still want to see me, too,” she said softly.

He reached up and covered her hand with his own, pressing his cheek into her palm. “Always,” he murmured. 

She didn’t pull away, and they stayed like that for a long moment before he released her hand, and she stood up and put on her coat. 

“See you soon,” he said.

“See you soon,” she echoed. She turned to go, but looked back when she reached the door. He was still smiling, and that was the image she carried away with her when she finally walked out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the third time I've written Karen telling Matt about Wesley. But it's important, dammit, and every season of canon that doesn't address it, there are new factors that I think are relevant to how the conversation might play out. Not that I expected Defenders to address it, it really belongs on Daredevil. But I think they need to talk about it, before things can move forward.
> 
> And speaking of moving forward, I have a few ideas of what might happen next, so there will probably be another chapter, to wrap things up.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is some actual plot in this chapter, but don't expect too much--it's really just an excuse to set up the scene that takes up most of the chapter.

Once Matt was recovered enough, he went home. His apartment felt large and strange after weeks spent lying in a small, bare convent room, but it was good to be back. It was good to take up the threads of his life that he had dropped so abruptly, and try to weave them back together into something worthwhile.

He had abandoned his law practice for weeks. He knew that now he would have to work doubly hard if he wanted to preserve any sort of professional reputation, and avoid being written off as hopelessly unreliable. He still had the stack of cases Foggy had passed on to him before Midland Circle, and whichever of those people hadn’t found help elsewhere were his only prospective clients. He was going to have to do his absolute best for them, for his own sake as much as theirs. Not only to stay in business, but also to prove to Foggy that he could be depended on, despite his intention to resume his vigilante activities.

Also, before he could resume those activities, he needed to train. He was in no condition to suit up and patrol the city, after being confined to bed for so long. Getting himself back into shape was going to take just as much work as getting his law practice back into shape. After weeks with too much time on his hands, he now found himself with too few hours in the day for everything he was trying to accomplish. 

Karen was equally busy. Her job at the Bulletin took up most of her time, and she often worked through her evenings, sometimes late into the night. Her dedication was paying off—Ellison was pleased with her work, and had started giving her much more latitude in what stories she wanted to cover. But that freedom only made her more eager to seek out stories that needed telling, leaving her with little free time.

So now that she and Matt had agreed that they wanted to be friends again, they both had to try and find a place for each other in their new lives. They were both determined to make it work, in spite of how busy they were, so they found ways. Some days they could arrange to have lunch together, or meet up for a quick cup of coffee. Once in a while they would both have business at the courthouse, and then Matt would come by the Bulletin office to pick Karen up and they would walk over together.

Their conversation was a little stilted at first. Karen had mostly gotten over the anger and uncertainty that had made her avoid him for so long. But now that she knew about his enhanced senses, she couldn’t help but notice all the small deceptions that were required to hide his abilities from others, when they were out in public together. She understood the necessity, but it was an uncomfortable reminder of just how much he had hidden from her, before.

Matt sensed her discomfort, but there wasn’t much he could do about it. He had promised not to hide himself from her anymore, but as long as they only met in public, he needed to keep up his public facade. Neither of them suggested meeting in private—rebuilding their friendship was going to take time, and they both knew it was too soon to be spending cozy evenings at home together.

Fortunately, Karen adjusted quickly. She really had missed his company, and she soon relaxed. It felt good to spend time together and talk, even if it was only for a quick half an hour here and there. They told each other little things about their day, sharing small triumphs and frustrations. They talked about the stories Karen was working on, and the cases Matt was working on. Despite the fact that they each did most of their work alone—or perhaps because of it—they both found it deeply satisfying to bounce ideas off each other, sharing insights and opinions. Over time, she was reminded more and more of all the reasons she had liked Matt so much in the first place. 

While Matt, who had never stopped liking her, found their meetings a mixture of happiness, and lingering regret for all the ways he had hurt her. Hearing her talk about her new job gave him twinges of guilt, and relief—it was his fault that she had lost her last job, so he was thankful that she had managed to land on her feet despite his actions. But mostly, he was truly happy for her that she had found a new career so perfectly suited to her talents. Even though he could admit to himself, privately, how much he missed working with her. 

In all their talks, Matt’s second job mostly went unmentioned. As long as they only met in diners or coffee shops crowded with other people, they couldn’t discuss Daredevil too openly for fear of being overheard.

He did tell her, indirectly, when he was ready to start patrolling again.

“So,” he began, one afternoon over coffee. “You know that I’ve been, uh, working to get back into shape, and I think I’m there. I’m ready to…get back out there, and see what I can find that needs doing.”

Karen understood. “Oh!” she said. “Okay, yeah, that’s…that’s good.” She felt her heart speed up, and knew that he would be able to hear it. She wasn’t afraid, exactly—Matt knew what he was doing. Most of the time. And she had known this was coming, sooner or later. But now it was here, she couldn’t help feeling a jolt of nervousness.

She took a calming breath. “That’s good,” she repeated firmly. “Thanks for letting me know, I appreciate it.”

Matt could sense her agitation, but he could also tell that she was making an effort to keep it to herself. She was doing her best to be supportive, just as he was doing his best to be honest and not hide from her. 

“You’re welcome,” he said softly. “I’m glad you approve.”

“Yeah, I do,” she assured him. “Just…” she sighed, and tried to keep her voice light. “I won’t say ‘Be careful,’ if you don’t say ‘Don’t worry.’ Deal?”

He knew what she was saying—neither of them should ask for what the other couldn’t give. He couldn’t promise he would be careful, at least, not all the time. That wasn’t how being a vigilante worked. But likewise, he knew that she couldn’t promise she wouldn’t worry. What Daredevil did was dangerous, there was no point in denying it. And this was the reality they were going to have to live with, from now on.

He smiled. “Deal,” he answered, and held his hand out across the table. She reached out to take it, and they shook hands to seal their agreement.

But after that day, she heard very little about what he was actually doing. She worried about his identity being discovered almost as much as she worried about his safety, so she wasn’t going to encourage him to talk about it when anyone else was in earshot. Whenever either of them brought it up, it was only in the most general terms.

Karen might ask, “How’s the nightlife?”

And Matt would answer, “It’s going well, I’m getting a lot done,” or “I ran into some old acquaintances last night, I don’t think they were very happy to see me.”

Sometimes he would volunteer a comment, like “Rough night last night, I didn’t get much sleep,” and she would answer sympathetically. 

But on the whole, she could see a difference in him, once he began going out at night again. Some days he seemed pleased, some days frustrated, but there was an overall ease about him that she hadn’t seen since last summer, before everything had fallen apart. Now that she knew what she was looking at, she could see clearly that being Daredevil satisfied some need inside him. He was a more content, less troubled person, despite the inevitable difficulties of his life, and she was glad.

The first time she saw obvious bruising on his face, she couldn’t help feeling a sharp spike of concern. But instead of asking “What happened?” like she used to, she only said, “Wow, that looks like it must have hurt.”

And he smiled, a cocky grin with a dangerous edge to it that she’d never seen in him before, and answered, “You should see the other guy.”

The thrill that traveled down her spine made her catch her breath for a moment. It was a brief flash of the side of him she still barely knew—in that instant, she was looking at Daredevil. She felt a shiver of excitement that stayed with her, even after the moment had passed and the conversation turned to more innocuous subjects. He had given her a glimpse, and she wanted to see more.

* * * * *

About a week later, she was working late one night in her office when a deep, muffled _boom_ shook the building, rattling the windows. Karen leaped to her feet, grabbed her purse, and ran outside.

 _Bomb,_ she thought, remembering vividly the night four buildings in Hell’s Kitchen had exploded. _That was a bomb._ But where? The street was quiet. Whatever had happened, it wasn’t nearby.

She walked quickly to the corner and looked in all directions, listening carefully. After a minute, she heard sirens, but the way the sound bounced off the buildings made it impossible for her to tell what direction they were coming from. She looked up, and saw a plume of dust rising into the air to the west, toward the river.

She hurried back to the office to close up her laptop and pack it away in her purse, a large shoulder bag. She was done here for tonight. There was a story happening right now on the waterfront, and she intended to find out what it was. 

But even while a part of her brain busied itself with the practical considerations of getting close enough to find out what was going on, hoping the emergency personnel rushing to the scene would be willing to talk, another part was asking: _Where was Matt?_ Was there any point in hoping that he wasn’t right in the middle of this, whatever it was? She thought of Midland Circle, and cold fear gripped her heart.

She took out her phone and called him, but got no answer. As she hurried toward the river, she tried telling herself that even if he was out patrolling tonight, that didn’t mean he was anywhere near that explosion. But the sick feeling in her stomach refused to be comforted. 

Well, the best way to find out if he was involved in this was to be a good journalist, and gather as much information as she could.

When she reached the scene, she saw that a warehouse had partially caved in. About half the structure was still standing, the rest reduced to rubble. Lights were flashing from a small fleet of emergency vehicles, police, ambulances, a fire truck. As Karen approached, she was stopped by a police officer.

“Stay back, miss. We don’t know how stable that is, the rest could collapse any second.”

“What happened?” Karen asked. She pulled out her notebook and pencil and added, “I’m a reporter. Karen Page, New York Bulletin.”

The cop looked harried. “A reporter,” she muttered. “Great. Don’t you people ever sleep?”

Karen shrugged. “I was working late at the office, and I heard the blast. So did half the Kitchen. You’re going to have to tell the press _something._ ”

The woman nodded, resigned. “I guess so. But we don’t know anything yet.”

“Can I talk to whoever is in charge?”

“He’s busy, Miss Page. We have a job to do here.”

Karen frowned, but she knew the officer was right. Dealing with the emergency was more important than talking to a reporter right now. “I’ll stay out of your way,” she told the cop, and the woman nodded in acknowledgement and walked away.

Karen began to work her way carefully around the perimeter, observing and taking notes. She saw no sign of Matt, but she wouldn’t expect him to stay right out in the open, if he _was_ here, when police were around. She scanned the nearby rooftops, but saw nothing.

She listened carefully to the voices around her, brief conversations, shouted commands. Whenever she spotted anyone who didn’t look too busy, she asked questions. 

Was it a bomb? No one would say for certain. It could have been an accident.

Had there been anyone inside? Too soon to know. So far, no one had been found.

What was in the warehouse? Unknown—or else no one would say. Karen made a note to herself to find out later who owned the property.

The question she was most personally invested in—had any vigilantes been seen in the area?—was the most difficult one to ask. She knew that the police, on the whole, were deeply suspicious of vigilantes, and mentioning Daredevil in connection with a possible bombing might only make him into a suspect. But she could ask if _anyone_ had been seen in the area, and the answer seemed to be _No._

Either Matt had never been here tonight, or he had left before the police arrived. Or else he was trapped inside the collapsed warehouse, injured or…she shuddered.

But there was nothing she could do. She could hardly rush in and search the remains of the building herself. She would have to wait while the emergency workers did their jobs, wait and see if he was found.

Or, she could go to Matt’s place and wait there. She tried calling again, and again got no answer. He was still out, somewhere. But if he wasn’t trapped here, then eventually he would come home. She could wait there until he did…or until it was clear he wasn’t going to.

* * * * *

Once she reached Matt’s apartment, she knocked on the door, just in case, but there was no response. She sighed, and went up to the roof. Assuming he did come back, he would come this way, unseen by any of his neighbors. So this was where she would wait.

It was a pleasant night, mild and clear, and she would have enjoyed the view of the city from up here, if not for the anxiety gnawing at her. She strained her eyes in all directions, but there was no sign of Matt. She found a place to sit, and settled herself to wait.

After a few minutes, she pulled her laptop from her bag. She could put her time to good use, and distract herself from her worry at the same time, by working up her notes about the explosion into an article. if she wrote it now and emailed it to Ellison, he’d see it first thing in the morning. She got out her notebook, and set to work.

* * * * *

Matt was tired. The explosion on the waterfront had been unexpected, but had gained him some potentially useful information. It would need further investigation, but not now, while the place was swarming with police. He had done all he could for tonight, following up a tentative chain of possibly unreliable sources, and he was ready to fall into his bed and sleep for the rest of the night. 

As he neared home, he relaxed his vigilance a little, and so it wasn’t until he landed on his own rooftop that he realized with a shock that someone else was there.

He tensed and fell into a crouch, his billy club held ready—and then recognition kicked in, and he nearly dropped the club in surprise.

“Karen?” He straightened up and holstered his weapon. “What are you doing here? Is everything all right?”

Karen had leapt to her feet, relief flooding her, intending to run to him. But she froze when he dropped into a fighting stance. He relaxed only a moment later, but she still stood uncertainly, her relief warring with trepidation. She knew she was in no danger, now that he had recognized her. But what would he think of her waiting up for him like this? He’d spoken sharply. Would he be angry?

“Everything’s fine,” she answered. “I was, uh, just writing an article on that explosion by the river, actually. A warehouse blew up. But I’m here because…I needed to make sure you were all right.”

His expression was hard to read with half his face covered by his mask, but she saw him press his lips together. She hurried on, “I did call first, after I heard the explosion, and you didn’t answer. So I knew you were…out. And when I saw the warehouse, all caved in, all I could think of was Midland Circle. I just…I needed to know that you were safe.”

Her voice trembled very slightly, and Matt’s flare of irritation that she was checking up on him evaporated. A collapsed building, and him not answering his phone—of course she was worried. How long had she been sitting here, waiting to see if this time, he would come back?

He closed the distance between them, and reached out to touch her shoulder. “I’m all right,” he assured her. His voice sounded rough in his own ears, but he felt her relax slightly under his hand. Her heart was still beating rapidly, but that was no surprise, after his abrupt arrival. “Do you want to come in?” he asked. “Or do you need to go?” As tired as he was, he realized that he didn’t want her to leave. But would she want to stay, now that she had seen for herself that he was still in one piece?

He went on hopefully, “I’ll tell you about my night, if you’ll tell me about yours.”

Karen studied his face, Matt’s familiar mouth and jaw beneath the horned mask. The grim set to his lips was gone, and while his voice was harsh and raspy, it sounded like overuse, not anger. Had he been shouting, earlier? She smiled. She could ask him—tonight, she could ask him anything. Not only did he apparently not mind that she had worried about him, he was finally offering to bring her into this side of his life, and tell her about it.

“I’d love to come in,” she answered him.

“Good,” he answered, smiling back. He went to open the door, while she retrieved her laptop and notebook. She followed him inside, and down the stairs into his apartment.

“Have a seat,” he invited, stripping off his helmet and gloves.

Now that her fears were set to rest, Karen felt again that thrill of excitement she had felt last week, at being so close to Daredevil. She looked at him once more, seeing the confidence in his stance, the certainty of his movements as he walked to an open trunk in the middle of the floor and dropped in the helmet and gloves. No blind fumbling, no hesitation. The billy club holstered on his hip went into the trunk, too, and he kicked off his shoes.

Karen could see he was tired, but even so he moved with the smooth agility of an athlete, and she realized she was staring. His hair was sweaty, flattened down by the helmet, and she felt a sudden urge to run her fingers through it and fluff it up. She wanted to touch him.

Instead, she sat down on the sofa, slipping off her own shoes and tucking her legs up on the cushions.

Matt began unfastening his suit, heading toward the bathroom. “I’m going to take a quick shower, this thing is a sweat-box. If you want anything to drink, help yourself.”

“Okay, thanks,” she answered. The bathroom door closed, and a minute later she heard the shower start running. She stood up and wandered into the kitchen. She wanted tea, and maybe Matt would want some as well, to ease his raspy throat. She put enough water in the kettle for both of them, and set it on the stove to heat.

She was glad to have a few minutes to herself. Solitude had been no comfort during her lonely wait on the roof, not knowing if Matt was dead or alive. But now that she knew he was safe, she needed some time to examine her feelings, without the distraction of his presence. The relief she had felt when he had finally come home was so intense, she couldn’t ignore the implications.

She was finally willing to admit to herself that she wanted more than friendship. She was undeniably attracted to him, but it was more than just that. When Sister Mary Helen had called her all those weeks ago and told her Matt was alive, she had rushed to his bedside without a second thought. Tonight, when he arrived on the roof, her first impulse had been to run to him, to hold on to him and not let go. Despite everything that had happened, everything he had done, she still cared for him.

Were his apologies and promises enough? Was she ready to risk her heart with him a second time?

The kettle boiled, and Karen filled her cup pensively. She couldn’t ignore the fact that what he did was dangerous. He had come home tonight, but some day he might not. She had already lived through the pain of losing him once. Was she prepared to risk going through that again?

But then she laughed at herself for even asking the question. Refusing to get more deeply involved with him couldn’t protect her—if he died, she would suffer, whether or not she was dating him. Midland Circle was proof enough of that. If she was doomed to suffer the pain of an attachment, why not embrace the joys as well?

But was that what he wanted? She had no doubt that he was happy they were friends again. But she had seen no signs that he wanted anything more. There was nothing he had said while recovering in the convent, and nothing he had said since then, that couldn't be taken to mean strictly friendship. Maybe he was simply being cautious, taking things slow like she had wanted. But maybe he just wasn’t interested anymore. So much had happened since that night last summer, when he had kissed her in the rain and asked her out to dinner. So many things had changed. Maybe his feelings had changed, too, and now he saw her solely as a friend.

In the bathroom, the shower stopped. Karen carried her cup of tea back to the sofa, just as the door opened and Matt stepped out, a towel wrapped around his waist.

Karen found herself staring again. She had never seen him undressed before, except at the convent when he’d been wrapped in bandages. Then, the sight had evoked pity, and worry. Now, it was evoking something else entirely. She took in the trim, muscular shape of him, the way the damp towel clung to his body, as he walked the few steps to the bedroom.

He turned in the doorway to say, “I’ll be right out,” then went inside.

“Okay,” she answered, a little breathless, watching the way his muscles flexed as he pulled the sliding door closed. God, she was gawking like she’d never seen a mostly-naked man before. She sat down, her face heating, and sipped her tea. _Get it together, Karen._

In the bedroom, Matt rummaged in the dresser for some clean clothes, and put on a t-shirt and sweatpants. He hadn’t intended to put himself on display like that—he was simply so used to being alone that it hadn’t occurred to him to bring a change of clothes into the bathroom with him.

He had noticed Karen’s response, of course. Her skin flushed, her heart rate increased, her voice was pitched slightly higher than usual when she answered him. But he was determined not to read too much into it. The fact that she was still attracted to him didn’t mean she was ever going to want to act on that attraction.

Tonight, she had been forced to face the possibility of losing him once again—and probably not for the last time, given the nature of his work. Even if she forgave him for all the pain he had caused her in the past, could he really expect her to be willing to live with that risk?

He rubbed his hair with the towel, and sighed. Best not to get ahead of himself. Tonight, they would talk. He would do what he had promised, and tell her what he’d been up to as Daredevil. He was glad to finally have this chance to talk to her in private, with no need for concealment. For now, that was enough.

He ran his fingers through his damp hair, trying to smooth it down into some kind of order, and went back out to the living room.

Karen sat on the sofa, her legs curled under her, laptop open on her lap. A cup of tea stood on the arm of the sofa beside her, steaming gently. She stopped typing for a moment when he came out, and said, “There’s water on the stove, if you want some tea.”

“Oh, thank you,” he answered, and walked to the kitchen. He heard the tapping of her keyboard resume as he turned on the burner to bring the kettle back to boiling, and got out a cup. He liked the thought that she was comfortable here, that she was happy to make herself at home and go on with her work while he puttered around. The casual, easy domesticity of it satisfied a lonely ache inside him that he usually tried to ignore. When his tea was ready, he went back and sat beside her on the sofa.

Karen looked up as he sat down, checking him over surreptitiously. She hadn’t noticed any signs of injury when he’d walked past in his towel, but she had admittedly been a little distracted. Now she looked at him carefully, alert for any sign that he was in pain, and saw none. Good.

He sipped his tea, and said, “You said earlier that you saw the collapsed warehouse. You were there?”

“Not when it blew,” she answered. “I was working in my office at the Bulletin, and I heard the explosion. So I went to see what had happened.”

“Karen, most people run _away_ from explosions, not toward them.”

She gave him a sharp look, but he didn’t sound angry, despite the lingering harshness in his voice. In fact, she thought she saw the hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips, and she grinned unapologetically. “I wanted to know what was going on,” she said, shrugging her shoulders.

The smile Matt was trying to hide nearly broke free. Karen’s fearlessness might put her in harm’s way, but he couldn’t deny how much it attracted him, even when it worried him. And after all, if she were the sort of person who ran from danger, then surely she would have run from _him_ —run away and stayed away—once he told her what he really was. If she were the sort to stay safely at home, then she wouldn’t be here with him now.

She went on, more seriously, “And I needed to know if you were there or not, when you didn’t answer your phone.”

He nodded thoughtfully. “I understand. How close did you get?”

“As close as the police would let me. They weren’t thrilled to have a reporter show up while they were still trying to figure out what happened. So I stayed out of their way. I looked around, and talked to whoever was willing to talk to me. They don’t know yet what caused the explosion, and I couldn’t find out what was in the warehouse, or if anyone was trapped inside. Once I found out all I could, I came back here to wait for you.”

“No one was inside,” he told her. “And I might know what’s being stored there.”

“So you _were_ there?”

“Before the explosion, yes. I was checking that whole row of warehouses along the river. Someone’s bringing drugs into the city, probably by water. I thought we’d put a dent in the heroin trade when we beat the Hand, but it looks like someone else is trying to fill the gap they left. I don’t know who, yet, and I don’t know exactly where they’ve set up their operation. So I was checking the warehouses, listening for any signs of late-night activity. I’d already checked the one that blew, there was no one inside, and I was working my way south when I heard the explosion.”

Karen had her notebook out again. “No one was inside,” she repeated. She made a face. “I guess I can’t include that in my article, just on your word. But I believe you, even if Ellison wouldn’t.”

Matt grinned. “Oh, I’ve got more information, and you won’t be able to use it, either. Pure hearsay, from highly questionable sources.”

“Oh?”

“Right after the explosion, I spotted someone running away, coming from that direction, so I followed him and asked him some questions. He’s damn lucky he wasn’t killed in the blast, he was on his way to that very warehouse to try and break in when it blew. He had heard, from a guy he knows, that there were drugs inside.”

“Was he a dealer?”

“No. Just a user, broke and looking for a fix. And scared shitless, by the time I caught up with him. I let him go. But first, I asked him where I could find that guy he knows. And then I went and found him, and asked him some questions. But it was the same story. He’d heard from someone else that there were drugs there.”

“Is that what happened to your voice? You sound like you’ve been yelling.”

“I have. He didn’t want to talk to me, and neither did the guy that _he_ heard it from.” His expression turned harder, with a hint of that dangerous edge she had seen before. “I followed the rumor back as far as I could, but it’s just that, a rumor. I couldn’t find out where it started.”

Karen sighed. “You’re right, I can’t use that. But I can tell Ellison the rumor exists, and maybe we can use it as a possible angle for a follow-up story, if we can get any solid sources to confirm it. The police are going through the place now, if there are drugs then they’ll find them.”

“They might not want to admit it to the press, though,” Matt pointed out. “They might want to keep it quiet until they can find out who’s responsible.”

“About that,” said Karen. “I’ve been checking online records to see who owns the building.”

Matt leaned forward eagerly. “And?”

“The owner of record is a company called Innovative Products.” She wrinkled her nose. “They might as well call themselves Shell Company, Limited. It’s going to take some digging to find out who _really_ owns it.”

“You look into that, and I’ll try to find out what the police dig up…” Matt began, than caught himself. “I mean. If you want to work together on this? I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have…I don’t have any right to tell you what to do.”

“No, you don’t,” she agreed. After all, he wasn’t her boss anymore. And this was _her_ story, just as much as his. But…"I would like us to work together, though. I was going to suggest it myself. We can cover more ground together than either of us could alone.” Plus, she admitted to herself, it would allow her to spend more time with this side of Matt. With Daredevil.

“All right, good. Thank you.” 

He sat back, so close to her they were nearly touching, and she found herself thinking about just how long it had been since they had sat together like this, working out a strategy for a case.

“You know,” she said hesitantly, “I love my job. But…sometimes I miss working with you, working on cases together.” She felt a little shy admitting it, as if she were saying something far more personal.

“I miss it, too,” Matt said quietly. He missed her every day, if he were being honest. But this wasn’t the time to wallow in past regrets. Karen was here to talk about the present. After a moment, he went on more briskly: “I’ll do what I said, and see if I can find out whatever the police know.”

“Okay. I’ll check out Innovative Products. It’s what I was planning to do even before you mentioned it, so we’re on the same page so far. I wonder if I should wait to turn in my article until I know more?” she mused.

“Is it finished? You were working on it when I got home,” he remembered.

“The first draft, yeah. I don’t know much, so it didn’t take long to write. But I don’t think I will wait. A lot of people must have heard the explosion, the sooner I can get some sort of explanation into print, the better. I can write a follow-up later, with whatever else we find out.”

“Can I hear what you wrote?”

“I already told you what I found out, it’s not much.”

“I know. But will you read me your article?”

“Really? I mean, sure, if you want…but it’s still a bit rough.”

“I don’t mind. I’d really like to hear it. Unless you’d rather not?”

She smiled. “No, it’s fine. But I hope you don’t mind if I revise it as I go.”

“No, not at all.”

“Okay then.” She brought up her rough draft on her laptop and began to read.

Matt listened, interested in the content of the article, but also in how she put the information together. A good journalist needed to know how to build a story, just as a good lawyer needed to know how to build a case. And the muttered editorial comments she interjected as she read, keyboard clacking as she made corrections, illuminated her thought process in a way he found just as interesting as the article itself.

“That’s redundant…too abrupt, needs a transition…makes more sense if I switch these two sentences around…ugh, too cliched….” She worked her way through the short piece, then read it over again. 

“Better,” she commented when she was finished. “Ellison will go over it too, before it goes to press.”

“Does he make a lot of changes?” Matt asked, curious.

“Not as many as he used to. Writing clearly and simply isn’t as easy as it sounds, but I’ve definitely gotten better the more I do it. A good editor is the best on-the-job training in the world.”

“Well, I’m not an editor, but it sounded good to me.”

“Thank you,” she said, pleased. Matt might not know any more about proper journalistic writing style than she had when she first started, but it was still gratifying to know that he thought her work was good.

She wondered suddenly what it would have been like if they had never been estranged from each other, if she had been able to share with him all the ups and downs of her early days as a journalist. It had been thankless work at first, writing her heart out only to have Ellison mercilessly edit her efforts. He was never unkind about it, but it had still been frustrating.

But there was satisfaction, too, in the work, and seeing her articles in print never failed to give her a thrill of pride. As her writing improved, and Ellison began to give her more praise and fewer corrections, she started to feel that she belonged there, at the Bulletin. It wasn’t _home,_ the way Nelson  & Murdock had been, but she had made a place for herself, by her own efforts, doing work that she loved.

If she and Matt had been as close then as they were now, she could have shared it all with him. And he could have shared with her his own challenges and triumphs, as he built, alone, the law practice he had always meant to share with Foggy.

Or would that have been too awkward, for both of them? Karen had never even considered continuing to work for Matt, after he and Foggy went their separate ways. She knew Matt didn’t blame her, and had never expected her to stay. But maybe he wouldn’t have wanted to tell her about his difficulties, and maybe she wouldn’t have been comfortable hearing about them, when she had left him on his own, had walked away and found herself a whole new career.

She sighed inwardly as she opened her email to send Ellison her article. Maybe it was better that they had both struggled alone, and came back together only when they were both better established in their new lives, and had found their own independent sources of strength and happiness.

Her email sent, she shut down her laptop and put it away in her purse.

Was she going to leave now? Matt wondered. He didn’t want her to go, not yet, but he had no reason to ask her to stay longer except for the fact that he wanted more of her company. _Don’t be selfish,_ he chided himself. _It’s late, she must be tired._

But Karen was in no hurry. “You know,” she said, “Now that I’m here, I’d love to hear more about all that stuff we can’t talk about in public.”

He smiled. “Daredevil stuff?”

She smiled back. “Yeah. How’s that been going, since you went back to it? What do you do, when you go out?”

“Whatever I can find that needs doing. Breaking up everyday street crime, mostly. Robberies, assaults. Protecting the victims, beating the perpetrators as badly as it takes to make them reconsider their choices.”

Karen saw a grim look flash across his face, but it was a look of satisfaction, as well. This was something he enjoyed, clearly. Something he wanted to do, not just a duty he imposed on himself. A shiver tingled over her skin, but not of fear. She was fascinated, and eager to hear more.

“Stick thought I was wasting my abilities just beating up muggers, but to me, protecting the city means protecting individual people, the ones being hurt in ways the police never see, the ones who have no other help.”

Karen nodded in agreement. “Absolutely. You know, it’s funny, the things you’ve done that I know about are the times you’ve taken on big organizations. But that’s not what you’re doing most of the time, is it?”

“No. This new drug business on the waterfront is the first organized crime I’ve run into since we stopped the Hand. I’ll take on criminal organizations when I find them, of course, but most of what I do is the small stuff.”

“How do you find the people that need help?”

“By listening, mostly. I spend a lot of time on rooftops, just listening. When I hear trouble, I come down and get to work.”

Matt was paying close attention to Karen as he talked, alert for any sign that discussing this might be upsetting her. But what he heard, in her heartbeat, her breathing, her voice, reassured him. She was interested, excited even. She really did want to hear about Daredevil stuff, and wasn’t put off by the violence of what he did.

He relaxed imperceptibly, and began to tell her more. He related a few stories about particularly memorable nights—not to boast about his successes, but to try and give her an accurate picture of what this life was really like. She listened intently, asking questions and showing no sign of discomfort (unless he counted the increase in her heart rate when he described a particularly risky encounter, with two men armed with guns).

That story led to questions about his suit—“Is it bulletproof?”—so he went and got it out of the bathroom to show her.

“Some parts are more heavily armored than others,” he told her. “I’ve been told that some areas are black, and some are red. The black parts can deflect a bullet. The red parts aren’t as strong, but they’ll stop a knife. The helmet got remade completely, after Frank Castle cracked the old one.”

 _That_ got him a sharp rise in her heartbeat.

“Frank…shot you in the head?”

“He did,” Matt confirmed. “Right after he came after Grotto in the hospital, that’s why I stayed home sick from work the next day. But the new helmet is ‘near indestructible,’ I’m told.”

Karen stared at him. He said it off-handedly, as if it were no big deal. But she was shocked. If it weren’t for his helmet, Matt would have been dead, at Frank’s hand. She would have lost Matt forever, just as they were starting to grow closer; and surely she wouldn’t have developed such profound sympathy for Frank, if he had killed him.

Her life last autumn had been dominated by Matt Murdock and Frank Castle, and her feelings about each of them. How different would her life be today, if Matt’s helmet hadn’t stopped that bullet?

 _But it did stop it_ , she reminded herself. He got shot in the head, and survived. She couldn’t bear to think about Matt dying, so she focused on the fact that he was taking sensible precautions, wearing protective armor that could, in fact, save his life.

She felt the fabric of the suit, feeling how light and flexible it was. “Wow,” she said, impressed. “Wherever you got this, Matt, I’m glad you have it.” Without thinking, she added, “The black outfit may have been sexy, but this will keep you much safer.”

Catching Matt’s startled look, she realized what she had just said, and blushed up to her hairline. There was a moment of silence, and then she burst out laughing. “Well, it was,” she said. “all wet and skin-tight in the rain, are you kidding me? I’m not made of stone.”

He grinned. “Are you saying this one isn’t sexy?” he teased. “Actually, don’t answer that. Frank called it a pair of little boy’s pajamas.” He made a face.

“It looks fine,” she assured him. Honestly, Matt could make anything look sexy, even the t-shirt and sweatpants he had on right now. He was a sexy man, no matter what he was wearing. She smiled at him—and suddenly yawned, the lateness if the hour finally beginning to catch up to her. Matt yawned, too, unable to stop himself.

“I should go,” she said, unwillingly. It was so nice to be here with him, talking comfortably and openly together about the things he hid from the rest of the world. She was enjoying it so much that she had lost all track of time.

“It’s late,” Matt agreed. He was enjoying himself, too, basking in Karen’s company like a cat in a warm patch of sunshine, but he knew this night had to end sometime. They had agreed to continue sharing information about tonight’s warehouse explosion, so there would be more private conversations to come. Maybe next time they could start earlier in the evening—he wouldn’t have missed this night for the world, but he was _tired._

Karen stood up, and he stood, too. He didn’t like the idea of her being out on the streets, alone, at this time of night, but he knew that she didn’t like being worried over any more than he did.

“Uh, you could sleep here tonight, if you wanted,” he offered. Then it was his turn to blush, realizing how that might have sounded.

But she took it as he intended. “Thank you, but that’s not necessary. I’m not sleeping on this sofa when I have a very comfortable bed at home.”

“Karen, you know I’d give you the bed—"

“And _you_ are not sleeping on this sofa when you’ve been out Daredevilling,” she went on, poking him gently in the chest. “I will be perfectly safe going home, I’ll take a cab.”

“Oh,” he said, feeling foolish. A cab. Of course. “Right, well. That’s…that’s good, then.”

She looked at his sheepish expression, and felt a rush of warm affection. Seeing him embarrassed by his concern for once, instead of trying to justify it, was unexpectedly charming. She stepped forward and hugged him, and after a moment his arms slid around her and he sighed.

“Sorry,” he said. “I can’t help worrying sometimes.”

“Exactly,” she murmured in his ear.

He laughed. It was true, they would both probably always worry about each other. They were both just going to have to learn to live with it. But right now, as they stood holding each other in an embrace that neither of them seemed inclined to break, that didn’t seem like such a bad thing.

“I’m really glad you came over tonight,” he told her.

“So am I,” she answered.

He could feel her heartbeat as well as hear it, pressed together as they were. He heard the soft sigh of her breath, and felt the way her body molded itself sweetly to his. A memory came vividly to mind, of how it had felt to kiss her, bringing with it an ache of longing.

But he wasn’t going to push. It was his fault that things had gone so wrong between them; this time he intended to wait, to hold back, to let her decide when—if ever—they were going to move beyond where they were right now. He rested his cheek against her hair, smelling the familiar citrus scent of her shampoo, and tried to think only about how much he had gained, not about how much more he still wanted.

 _I should go,_ thought Karen. _I’m keeping him up, he can’t go to bed until I leave._ But leaving Matt’s arms felt as difficult as leaving the warmth of her bed on a cold winter morning. She felt more certain than ever, after their talk, that she wanted to be with him. He had done tonight what he had promised all those weeks ago in the convent, and told her the truth about his secret life. He truly wasn’t hiding from her anymore, and her last lingering doubts were laid to rest.

But she was as unsure as ever of what _his_ feelings might be. Although he was certainly making no move to let go of her—he held her as if he’d be happy to keep on holding her all night. She drew back slightly, just far enough so she could look at him, and hesitantly lifted a hand to cup his cheek.

The look of hope that flashed across his face was unmistakable, and her heart leapt. She brushed her thumb softly across his lips, and they parted on a shaky breath. 

“Karen,” he whispered, like a wish, or a prayer.

She leaned back in until her lips were barely an inch from his. “Yes,” she breathed, and kissed him.

Matt froze for an instant, unable to move, almost unable to believe what was happening. But then his arms tightened around her, pulling her close. His lips moved over hers, warm and eager, and she hummed low in her throat, a sound of pure pleasure. Her hand slid upward from his face, fingers tangling in his hair, and a small groan escaped him.

He raised a hand to her cheek, and drank her in. The softness of her skin, the taste of tea on her lips, the heat of her body pressed against his, the rapid beating of her heart. And above all, the electrifying feel of her lips as they clung to his, undoubtedly just as eager for this as he was.

Karen felt giddy with relief and happiness—Matt _did_ still want her, after all. A warm glow of desire filled her, and her lips curved into a smile as they went on kissing. Matt’s lips curved in answer, until they were both smiling so hard that they had to stop kissing, and stood beaming at each other, still wrapped up in each other’s arms.

“Do you want to go out to dinner with me?” asked Karen, a little breathless.

Matt laughed. “Yes,” he answered.

“Tomorrow?”

“Yes.”

He kissed her again, and she melted against him and kissed him back, more deeply this time, soft and slow and perfect. Neither of them intended for it to lead to anything more tonight, but neither of them wanted to stop, either.

Finally, Matt pulled himself away, brushing kisses over her cheeks and forehead before reluctantly stepping back. His hands lingered on her waist, still unwilling to let go of her completely, while hers rested on his shoulders.

“Now I’m even more glad you came over tonight,” he told her, smiling again.

She laughed. “So am I.” She leaned in to kiss his cheek, before turning away to pick up her purse and sling it over her shoulder.

“Tomorrow,” she said softly.

“Tomorrow,” he echoed. Karen couldn't remember the last time she had seen him look so happy. 

He walked with her to the door, slipping one arm back around her waist.

“By ‘tomorrow,’ you mean later today, right?” he asked.

“Right. I mean the very next time I have dinner, I want to have it with you.”

He kissed the side of her head. “Me too. Where should we go?”

“Hmmmm. Let’s both think of some ideas, and then tomorrow—later today—we can decide. But nothing fancy.”

“No, nothing fancy,” he agreed.

At the door, she turned and hugged him once more. She had a feeling if she kissed him again, she would never want to leave. And while that idea was definitely appealing, they both really did need to get _some_ sleep tonight. She stepped away from him, letting her hands slide down his arms until she was holding his hands.

“Goodnight,” she said.

“Goodnight,” he answered, enjoying the fact that she didn’t want to break contact any more than he did. He squeezed her hands gently, and she squeezed back, before they both finally let go. She opened the door, looked back to smile at him one last time, and walked out.

After he closed the door behind her, Matt stayed where he was, listening as her footsteps receded down the hallway. When she reached the stairs, he turned and walked back to the living room. Crossing to the window, he listened again, and heard her step outside. Then there was a pause, and he imagined her looking up and down the street; a moment later, he heard her hail a taxi.

He smiled, leaning his forehead against the glass. Once the car door slammed, and the cab pulled away from the curb, he turned toward the bedroom, still smiling, and finally went to bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know in the show, Matt talks about Daredevil stuff in diners without worrying about being overheard by anyone. But realistically, I think it's a bad idea. Plus, it worked well for the emotional arc I wanted that they not talk about it too soon. I liked the idea of Karen gradually warming back up to him, but not being completely certain what she wants until she finally does get to see that side of him in the final scene. 
> 
> I'm sorry this update took so long--I hope it was worth the wait! Thanks for reading!
> 
> I'm also on [tumblr](http://trombonesinspace.tumblr.com).


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